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# Dog Breath

Outside the house, it was cold and dark. Donna Fuller heard a dog barking in the distance. She peered into the
darkness outside the kitchen window. Her reflection stared back at her from the inky blackness of the glass. A
gust of wind splattered raindrops against the window, distorting her image, making it soften and melt. She closed
her eyes and tried to concentrate on the pancakes.

She was standing at the kitchen sink making pancakes for breakfast. Her hand trembled as she stirred the
batter. Closing her eyes had not helped. In a futile attempt to keep her mind from wandering, Donna cinched the
cloth belt of her pink bathrobe around her shapely waist. She pulled the belt tight until it hurt. She was the
picture of innocence, a young blonde housewife with blue eyes. But Donna knew what no one else could see.
She knew it was only a matter of time before her mind began to wander, and the voices returned. Her nightmare
could not be stopped.

“Begin action!” the voices shouted.

When the voices returned, Donna relaxed. She had been dreading them, but she welcomed them back like an old
friend. She knew what they wanted. They would take control of her amd direct her actions. They would make
her feel like she was trapped in a pornographic movie. She knew that the fear of waiting was at an end.

“Let’s go!” Donna shouted to her husband and kids. “Your breakfast is ready!”

Her husband, Bob, was the first to the table followed by Cindy and Tommy, the twin teenagers. She would
breast-feed the baby after the others left.

Cindy picked at her pancake like a bird while Bob wolfed down huge pieces of pancake dripping with syrup.
Tommy imitated the poor eating habits of his father, holding his fork suspended in midair between mouthfuls, and
never resting it on his plate. Donna gazed at her husband, entranced by the maple syrup dripping from his fork.

“Catch the syrup,” the voices urged Donna. “Catch the hot sticky stuff with your fingers.”

Donna fought the impulse to stick her hand out and catch the dripping syrup. The voices wanted her to suck it
off her fingers in front of her husband and kids. They wanted her to look her daughter right in the eyes and tell
her how good the gooey drips tasted. Donna marvelled at how much of the hot sticky stuff never made it into
her husband’s mouth. The voices urged her to act. She was reaching out with her hand, when her son, Tommy,
broke her concentration.

“Mom,” Tommy complained, “Why does it always have to be pancakes on Friday?”

With a sigh, Donna laid her hand down on the table and heard her voice respond, “Stop your whining, and eat
your pancakes before they get cold. We eat pancakes because your father likes them.” In her heart, Donna held
a special affection for Tommy. He was becoming a man. He was starting to rebel, but she still controlled him.
Donna was a young mother controlling a son who was bursting with spunk. The thought filled her with a tingling
warmth.

Donna smiled at Tommy. He did not smile back.

For Bob, Cindy and Tommy, the voices did not exist. They ate breakfast without concern. Only Donna was
worried. The dripping syrup had aroused her. Her pussy throbbed with anticipation. She was anxious to get her
husband off to work and the kids packed onto the school bus before something bad happened.

As if reading her mind, Bob looked up.

“Heat me up a little, sweetheart.”

Donna poured the coffee quickly. Bob was a kind and loving husband, but he had a quick temper. He expected a
quick clean breakfast. He was obsessive about hygiene. If she had licked his maple syrup off her fingers, he
would have been shocked, but not angry. It took dirt to make him mad. Once he found a dog hair in his coffee
cup and he slapped her hard across the face right in front of the kids. She did not want to make him angry.

Cindy finished first. She pushed away her plate, “Sorry, Mom, I have to watch my weight.”

Donna took Cindy’s plate away. She served her family like a waitress. Her light blond hair was pulled back and
tied with a red ribbon, to keep hair from falling onto the plates. She felt like a servant. The only difference was
that she wore an old pink bathrobe instead of a waitress’s uniform. Underneath the robe, she was almost naked.
All she wore was a nursing bra with the ends of the cups removed to provide quick access to her nipples for
breast-feeding.

While Cindy shuffled off to the bathroom, Donna bent down beneath the kitchen sink to fill the dog’s bowl with
hard brown nuggets of food.

The nuggets rattled as they struck the plastic bowl. As Donna strained to hold the heavy bag of dog food, her
robe fell open exposing her hanging breasts. She could hear the roar of blood rushing to her ears. To Donna, it
sounded like muffled laughter from a room full of people. She hesitated before closing her robe. The voices told
her to leave it opened. Donna felt a distinct sexual surge. When she looked up, she saw her son, Tommy, look
away as she cinched the belt tightly around her waist.

As Tommy turned to leave, he thought “Mom is such a slut. She’s always teasing me.” He averted his eyes from
his mother’s exposed breasts and left the kitchen quickly before saying something that he might regret.
Someday, he vowed, he would get even.

“I’m going out to the garage to feed Bowser,” Donna announced.

No one heard her. Her husband, Bob, was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and Cindy and Tommy were
collecting their school books.

Stepping down into the early morning darkness of the garage the sudden cold lifted up under her robe teasing
her exposed nipples into erect nubs.

Donna yelled out “Here Bowser, Breakfast time!”

From then on everything happened in slow motion. Her nightmare began.

A tall skinny teenager with a forehead full of angry red pimples and pale, dead blue, eyes rose from behind the
family car. His eyes were blank and empty looking. He had a faint wisp of a blond mustache.

Donna stared at him. It was the eyes that held her attention. They appeared dull, lifeless, and cold. When she
broke eye contact; she noticed the black object in his right hand was a Sony camcorder.

The voices commanded her, “Obey the boy.”

Donna’s dog, Bowser, bounded out from behind the car. For a moment, she believed the dog would protect her
until she saw its penis, red and engorged, dangling below the its belly, almost scraping itself against the
concrete floor.

“Jerk off the dog,” the boy told Donna, raising his camcorder.

Bowser, a large black Doberman, lunged towards her. She patted him on the head with her left hand and set the
food bowl down on the hood of the car.

Donna looked into the dead pale blue eyes of the boy as if there has been a misunderstanding.

“Jerk the dog off,” the boy demanded.

Donna hesitated. This boy, no older then her own son Tommy, was demanding that she masturbate the family
dog. This was disgusting. Donna resisted the urge to slide her hand around the dog’s angry red dick and pump
him to a climax.

Kneeling beside the dog, Donna watched as the boy unzipped his pants removing a pale flaccid cock.

“Wanna suck my cock?” the boy asked.

“No, please!” Donna begged shaking her head sideways.

“Than, do the dog.”

Donna slid her right hand under the dog’s belly, slowly rubbing his already engorged penis. She felt the heat from
the dog’s dick warm her fingers. It was hot, very stiff, and smelled like raw sex.

Donna’s hand pumped. Her actions were mechanical. She knew what the voices wanted. She jacked the dog off
into the empty water bowl. The dog’s dick responded to her stimulation.

Donna watched as the dog’s throbbing penis spat out a stream of yellow white cum into the green plastic water
bowl. It squirted out in a thick gooey ribbon. Donna felt empathy for the dog. Like her, the dog needed sex more
than breakfast.

“Breakfast time, here Bowser!” the voices mocked Donna.

“I’m not a dog!” Donna suddenly shouted in defiance. Her outburst caused the boy to lower his camcorder.

“I could fuck you like a dog,” the teenager bragged.

“You wouldn’t,” said Donna.

“Why not?”

“My husband,” said Donna gesturing with her head in the direction of the house.

Laughing at her threat, the boy waved his flaccid penis in front of Donna’s face. He slipped a hand inside her
robe. She felt him run his fingers up the inside of her thigh.

“Please don’t,” she begged him.

The boy ignored her plea. His fingers touched the outside lips of her sex.

“My, God!” Donna pleaded, “I’m old enough to be your mother. Leave me alone.”

The boy smiled at her anguish as he slipped two fingers inside her pussy. They slithered inside her like small
snakes wiggling their way smoothly into the moist cave of her cunt. They were slick and wet with her juices.

Donna felt him fucking her with his fingers. “You’re my bitch,” the boy assured Donna. He withdrew his hand and
held it in front of Donna’s face. “Suck my fingers,” he demanded.

Donna took his fingers into her mouth. She tasted her own pussy juices on his hand. She licked and sucked each
finger until his hand was clean. The boy pulled his hand away from her mouth and drew a line across the side of
her face with his saliva coated fingers. He dried his fingers off by, wiping them on her hair, before grabbing his
cock. He was moving his cock toward her lips when the voices spoke.

“Do you like fresh dog cum?” asked the voices.

“I could never . . . ” Donna faltered for a lack of words.

“You never tried dog cum?”

“No, never,” Donna answered truthfully. She was grateful to the voices for stopping the teenage boy from
fucking her face.

The pale eyed boy, put away his penis, zipped his pants, and raised the Sony Camcorder.

Donna looked at the boy in a daze saying nothing. Her mind was filled with a close-up image of husband’s open
mouth dripping with maple syrup.

“Pour the dog cum into your mouth, but don’t swallow.” the voices commanded.

The voices had spoken. She knew the consequences of disobedience. They would humiliate her, debase her, and
punish her beyond belief with no remorse. The voices were like seductive whispers. Gentle at first. They promised
to make her happy, to give her new powers. The power to fill the sexual needs of her dark side. But this sexual
thrill was fulfilled through the loss of self-control.

Donna made no response. She seemed frozen in time. Her eyes glazed over.

“How did I ever get myself into this situation?” she thought. Her thoughts darted about in confusion like goldfish
swimming in circles.

Just a few feet away, her husband, Bob, was brushing his teeth. Tommy and Cindy were dressing for school, and
she was about to drink fresh dog cum.

“My, God!” Donna gasped, “Please, let me do something else.” She turned toward the pimple-faced boy. “I’ll do
anything,” she pleaded.

Donna dropped to her knees. She begged this teenager, who was young enough to be her son, for a way out.
She looked up at his pimpled forehead. “I’ll suck your cock,” she said.

In response, he focused the camcorder on her face, but remained silent.

Donna fumbled with the boy’s zipper. She removed his long pale cock, her fingers trembling, and prepared to suck
it into her mouth.

But she waited.

She was waiting for a sign. Donna wanted a nod, or some sort of acknowledgement that she was making a
sacrifice. She was not going to suck this strange boy’s cock without his consent. The least he could do was
offer a word of encouragement.

The boy started peeing.

The urine splashed against her face and soaked the sleeve of her bathrobe before Donna managed to push his
cock away. A long yellow stream of hot piss flowed onto the cold cement floor of the garage. A faint cloud of
steam rose from the yellow puddle. The urine flowed to a low spot in the floor beneath the front tire of the family
car.

“Drink the dog cum,” repeated the voices.

The pale-eyed boy, put away his penis, zipped up his pants, and raised the Sony Camcorder to his face.

Donna lifted the green bowl and tilted it toward her open mouth. “My God, only a depraved slut would do this,”
she thought. Her eyes were wide open as the sticky fluid coagulated into a single pool of goo as she slowly tilted
the bowl toward her lips. When the goo reached the lip of the bowl, she had to open her mouth wider and raise
her head to keep it from dribbling down her chin. Just before the dog cum slid out of the bowl onto her upturned
tongue, Donna accepted her own debasement. “I’m a dog slut,” she thought.

It tasted repulsive to her. Hot, wet and slimy it rolled off her tongue onto the underside of her mouth like a fat
garden slug.

Donna started to gag. She resisted the impulse to vomit by turning her head down so the cum won’t slide down
her throat. The fresh dog cum filled her mouth with a pungent odor making Donna’s eyes water.

The voices calmed her. They were condescending. “That’s a good girl. You’re a good Mommy. Now be a nice
wife, and say good-bye to your husband and kids.”

She turned automatically toward the kitchen door like a zombie.

Back in the kitchen, Donna’s world exploded into a whirlwind of activity.

Cindy yelled out, “Good-bye, I love you Mom!”

Tommy avoided looking Donna in the eyes and shouted a quick “Bye!”

Donna remained silent. She was afraid to talk. Bob was busy stuffing his cell phone into his briefcase. No one
noticed that she was white as a ghost and appeared to be in shock. For a moment, Donna grew angry that no
one in her family paid attention to her predicament.

“They don’t really care about me at all,” she thought. She was struck by an overwhelming sense of
abandonment. She felt numb.

The numbness was quickly replaced by fear. Bob stopped at the front door expecting a quick good-bye kiss. With
a feigned confidence Donna offered her cheek to him. She was expecting and hoping for a quick goodbye kiss on
the cheek, a kiss as careless and rushed as the way her husband ate breakfast. She desperately needed to spit
out the dog cum. She felt confused and lost as Bob ignored her cheek and turned his face toward her lips.

“How about a little exchange of body fluids?” he joked, pushing the side of her face with his hand until she was
looking directly into his eyes.

Donna kept her lips tightly pressed together. His lips pressed against hers. She backed up, but he stopped her
from moving by placing one hand behind her head, forcing her lips to his.

“My God!” Donna thought, “What if he stuck his tongue into my mouth and tasted the thick pungent dog goo?
How would I explain it?” Her husband’s tongue was just a kiss away from a mouthful of dog cum. “Would he ever
forgive me?” Donna asked herself.

Gradually his tongue snaked its way between her lips, past her pale pink lipstick, and into her hot, wet, mouth. In
just another few seconds, it would fully penetrate her. Their tongues would intermingle with the thick gooey dog
cum. Standing in the doorway of their home, kissing her husband goodbye, Donna would share her terrible secret.

Donna was in a panic. Maybe, she should swallow the dog cum. She felt her stomach heave at the thought. If it
was already in her mouth why couldn’t she swallow it? Her mouth was filling with saliva behind her tightly
clenched teeth. Why was she doing this to him?

Donna decided. The voices did not matter. She had to swallow. If she did not get the dog cum out of her mouth,
her husband would never forgive her. Maybe, she really was a dog slut.

Before Donna swallowed, Bob suddenly released her from his grip.

“Hey! Your sleeve is all wet,” he complained.

Breaking away from his embrace, Donna raised her chin, to keep the dogs cum from spilling out, and mumbled
between clenched teeth, “I dipped it in the dog’s water bowl.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better not get me wet,” Bob threatened, as his face flushed with anger.

Carefully avoiding the wet sleeve, Bob grabbed her blond ponytail twisting her head toward him for another kiss.

If only he knew, Donna thought, her mind in turmoil.

Her hair caught in his hand, Donna’s head twisted toward her husband. She knew that Bob was serious. He
wanted some tongue. A little French Kiss in the morning to warm him up. There would be no stopping him this
time.

For Donna, this was a real dilemma. She wanted to submit. She wanted to suck her husband’s tongue into her
mouth. But if she did give her husband the kiss he wanted, what would he do to her after she gave him a
mouthful of dog cum?

Their lips touched.

“Come on honey, give me a little tongue,” Bob demanded.

Donna felt her husband’s breath, hot against her lips. To distract him, she pulled his hand into her robe and
placed it on top of her breast. She felt him squeeze her nipple, but his lips remained insistent. Puckering up, she
returned his kiss, but kept her teeth clenched tight.

The voices started murmuring an incessant stream of threats in Donna’s head. “Swallow and your dog will fuck
you. Swallow and your son, Tommy, will rape you. Swallow and . . .” The threats went on endlessly and without
mercy. With her lips pressed tightly against her husbands’, Donna’s eyes darted about crazy with fear.

Swallowing was no longer a solution. The voices would punish her. She would rather face her husband’s wrath
than risk punishment from the voices.

Twisting her head against Bob’s embrace, Donna broke free. Pulling away from Bob’s grip on her hair hurt, but it
was a small pain compared to the horrors promised by the voices.

She backed up.

“Sorry, bad breath.” Donna mumbled, tilting her chin up to keep the dog cum from pouring out of her mouth. She
hoped her apology would be enough.

“Dog breath!” the voices shouted so loudly that Donna was afraid her husband would hear.

Bob grabbed Donna’s left breast and roughly pinched her nipple, angry at her refusal to French Kiss him.

“Dog breath!” shouted the voices.

Bob turned and hesitated. For a second, Donna thought that he would try to kiss her again.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “You’ve got morning breath.” Bob thought it was the worse case of morning breath he had
ever smelled, but he silently vowed to teach his wife a lesson for her refusal to submit.

There was a roar of laughter in Donna’s ears as if a vast audience had enjoyed her private humiliation. Her
performance was over. She grasped the front door to keep from falling down. She felt faint, but the moment
passed.

Her secret was safe.

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